Whoville
by Bytemite
Summary: Before the crew of Serenity can enjoy the holidays, a community asks for their help in an unusual way.


**Disclaimer:** Joss Whedon made the snow, I just turn it into snowballs. Whee!

This is sort of a follow-up to Winter Campaign, though reading that first isn't necessary. Probably occurs AU between OiS and the movie, even though I'd love to say this is after the movie and here's all the characters happy as can be for Christmas.

Erm, not quite finished, technically. I planned to have an action sequence in here and I still am going to finish it. Things are just busy preparing around the household; even though I started this about two weeks ago, I haven't had the time to work on it that I'd have liked. Now it's the day before Christmas Eve, and I'm sort of out of time, so I thought I'd put up what I have, see if anyone liked it.

I wrote this to experiment with all the characters, try to be faithful to them and the spirit of the show. It's my first 5000+ word fic in this fandom, and my second 5000+ word fic ever, so feedback much appreciated.

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It was late enough to be early, the day before Christmas, and not a soul was stirring, _Serenity_ quiet at last.

Warm and comfortable in familiar surroundings, the silence never-the-less woke the lean young doctor. Blue eyes blinked in the soft light of the common room. He was sitting on the couch across from the infirmary in the same position he fell asleep, one arm thrown around the back, and he shifted slightly, preparing to settle down again. A weight leaning on his chest stopped him. He ran his fingers through her chestnut brown hair, remembering hours before of hushed conversation and laughter.

This was a conundrum. Watching her smile as she dreamed so peacefully had a certain appeal to it, but if he let her stay in this position, her neck would be hurting in the morning. Regretfully, he nudged her, and she made a small noise of complaint. "We should go to bed, Kaylee."

The little mechanic stretched, reclined back again, then opened sleepy hazel eyes, the corners of her mouth curling up further at the sight of him. "Won't be much for sleepin' if we go to bed," she teased. Kaylee snuggled her shoulders against him, and he obliged by dropping his arm around her to pull her closer. "An' we got a whole _week's_ shore leave, I can be up late as I wanna."

Simon shook his head. "I still can't believe you convinced the captain to go along with that. The man's more wired than the engine; he could really stand to loosen up a little."

Kaylee narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing, not quite able to suppress her smile. "So ya that much better now, huh?" Her eyes were challenging, and she was wide awake now. "Prove it."

"My pleasure."

She squirmed happily against his lips, pulled away after a moment, and looked thoughtful. "Nope! Still need more convincin'!"

"Kaylee!" He was laughing.

"An' why're ya so s'prised, anyhow? I can be all kinds a'timidatin'." She looked and sounded about as tough as a mouse, and neither her stern expression nor the fists she planted at her hips really helped her case all that much.

"Yes," Simon agreed, planting another kiss on the tip of her nose, "I'm sure Mal quakes in his boots at the thought of you."

She giggled, reverted back to dangerous rabbit mode as an idea occurred to her. "Simon Tam! Tell me whatcha got me for Christmas," she ordered.

He stared. "No."

Kaylee shrugged, amused by her failed effort and his no-nonsense response; she really hadn't expected any different. "Worth a try." She jumped up and tugged on his hand. "I'ma hafta go'n do some gift shakin' instead, an' if I guess right, you hafta tell me so."

"Or you could keep it a surprise for when you open it…" He'd already lost, he knew, and let her pull him out towards the cargo bay.

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After the initial sense of alarm and the falling out of bed – gorramn, it was _freezing_, and here he was, half dressed – Captain Reynolds grabbed his gun belt and scrambled up his ladder out of his bunk before the nightmarish thunder and cries of the fallen faded. He nodded to his first mate, waiting for him with her sawed off, wearing only an unbuttoned tropical shirt, her undergarments, and a battle-ready expression on her russet features.

They were already on the move again when their hulking mercenary noisily climbed out to join them; in boxers and an entire arsenal at his disposal. "Can't crazy shut up for one ruttin' night?" Jayne groused, scratching at his goatee.

Kaylee's bunk was open, and the flowers she'd painted above it were withered and dead in her absence. The captain quickened his pace.

The stairs into the cargo bay provided makeshift cover as he swept his gun over the area, tipping it back to the ceiling as his eyes were drawn towards an unexpected vibrancy by the infirmary doors. Inara. She was shimmery like new fallen snow, a silken white robe wrapped around her as she wrapped her arms around Kaylee. Charcoal curls cascading around her shoulders shielded the smaller girl.

He sighed in annoyance and holstered his pistol. Beside him, Zoë made no such motion, continuing to scan the floor for trouble and ready to shoot if it presented itself. "Simon!" he yelled, stomping the rest of the way down the stairs. The boy startled; he'd been hovering near Kaylee, looking troubled and being useless. With less than two hours sleep and dawn coming all too fast, Mal did _not_ have the patience for this. "You upsettin' my mechanic again?"

"Caaaptain!" the distraught girl wailed, waving her hands helplessly toward where Simon's sister laid curled up in a nightgown, dark strands splayed around her like roots. Just yesterday, some pitiful kind of pine tree and a number of presents had cheerfully been waiting for Christmas day in the same spot.

Attired to match Zoë, their pilot followed them from the now undecorated front hall, his blond head turned back and his expression bewildered. "Who took down our lights, and more importantly, how long have I been asleep? It looks like I missed everything." Wash stopped short with the ship's three fighters as they contemplated the too empty cargo bay, disappointment clouding his usual humour.

Jayne shared that sentiment, only angrier and with a greater desire for violence. His machine gun Lux looked eager to oblige. "_Kao_! I had me some whiskey under there!" He narrowed his eyes at the other members of the crew, trying to determine who might be responsible, settled on the captain. "Gorramnit, Mal! Give it back!"

"I take it Reverse Santa came?" Mal quipped, ignoring the accusation as he affected a casual stance, simmering anger on behalf of his crew. They didn't have much to be stolen in the first place.

"Must've been extra good this year, sir," Zoë rejoined wryly.

A deep, rumbling voice announced the arrival of Shepherd Book in sleeping sweats from the direction of the passenger dorms. "Actually, I believe Saint Nicolas would have preferred gifts of _coal_ to theft."

Sympathetic and wise as the dark, grizzled man was, the captain reflected that they really were an ironic bunch. "Don't get our hopes up, preacher." The simmer became a boil as he took in the mood settling in over his ship. Oh, someone was _not_ going to have a good day. "River?"

"He slid down the chimney," the teenaged girl announced loftily, her voice small but carrying and heavy with portent. Her brother wandered over to her, unsure how to help comfort Kaylee. "Stopped only about a minute or two, then stuck his head out the fireplace flue."

Reynolds considered the words of his navigator and sometimes oracle, then exchanged a look with Zoë .Top hatch. "Explains why it's so cold," he commented. She nodded, troubled, both of them thinking on the bounty hunter who had snuck aboard and terrorized them only months ago.

Inara understood as well, pausing the comforting circles her hand was tracing. The companion smoothed Kaylee's hair with gentle concern for her friend, murmuring soothingly. "_Mei-mei_, would you like some hot cocoa?" she asked, an attempt at diversion. Kaylee nodded, calmed to sniffles. The two of them disappeared into her shuttle to retrieve the ingredients, and the captain imagined incense-sweetened air washing over him as he crouched by his best smuggling hole and slid the panel away. Nothing missing.

"But why would they take the _tree_?" Mal wondered aloud. Damn thing had looked downright termite ridden, and the ornamentation was all improvised. It didn't make sense, there had to be something else. "Zoë, check the galley, Wash, check the bridge. Have Kaylee look over the engine when she can." He stood. "Jayne? Dress warm."

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The snow just outside _Serenity_'s airlock was trampled down, scattered by dark green needles and an unlucky abandoned spoon that had been conscripted into playing a bit of shiny for the tree. The trail led around to the side of the bird-shaped ship, stopping at the wing. There, the treads marks arrived from and departed in the same direction, ranging away over the frosted landscape.

Bedecked in an eye-bleeding knitted cap and his olive green jacket, Jayne took one last sip from his mug, cupping it in gloved hands for further warmth. He snorted. "Hell Mal, it's a right puzzeler." The skilled tracker turned his drink over, hefted it up and down to confirm its state of emptiness, scowled. "Gonna go get more cocoa."

Mal tried not to think about it; a cup of kindness from Inara, probably enabled by one of her _lì yòng__ kāng_ clients. He was almost convinced he didn't want any as he suppressed a shiver, clenched his hands against the cold. His old brown duster had seen him through plenty of harsher conditions. "_Bì zuǐ_. Need to know what we're up against, Jayne."

Jayne grumbled and stepped off the ramp, careful not to disturb any of the tracks in the snow as he circled around the scene.

After a few minutes, the mercenary stomped back, looking uncertain. While that wasn't an uncommon occurrence in most situations, it was after a reconnaissance of this type. "Footprints are _wú tóu wú nǎo_, but them an' their ride weren't sunk in much. Them as done it, they was little."

The captain mulled over the information, crossed his arms. "How many?"

"Just the one, most like."

Mal nodded. Whoever was responsible was trying to lull them into a false sense of security, just as the stolen decorations were probably a cover for what the thief really did to them. "So… trap?"

Jayne shrugged. "Like as not."

He sighed and called for Zoë over the com.

She reported promptly to the cargo bay with her beige woolen overcoat, still armed and in armor. "Food stuffs ain't tampered with, nothin's missin', and Wash says the bridge's fine," she informed him, climbing onto the driver's seat of the hovermule.

"Well, there's got to be _somethin'_ wrong." He scrubbed at his face, frustrated by both the situation and that they weren't lucky enough to expect anything different. Not for the first time, he wondered if maybe he annoyed a saint in a past life; no one had karma like his unless they were cursed. "This don't pan out, I'll have myself a gander over the hull."

His first mate paused before powering up the vehicle, taking in the too-obvious trail in the snow. "We followin' that?"

"It's suspicious, I know it. Don't have any other leads, Zoë." He brooked no argument, and the engine thrummed her concession. "That, and Jayne'll cut on us some if he don't get his whiskey back."

"Damn straight," the big man contributed proudly, raising and almost spilling his second coveted cup of chocolate drink. They jerked out from under the shelter of their ship and home, skimming frictionless, effortless, and smoothly over sparkling snow.

A bothersome thought occurred to Mal, and he frowned, his brow furrowed. "Jayne. Who's the liquor for, anyways?"

"Huh?" Jayne squinted at him, expression implying he thought it one of the dumber questions he'd ever been asked. "Whiskey's mine. Won't share none."

He rolled his eyes. Jayne wouldn't have bought another gift; the mercenary's selfishness meant another member of his crew was going neglected. "Then who was it '_sposed_ to be for?"

The barbarian scoffed. "Inara's Buddhist. An' maybe ya ain't noticed, but nine don't divide even."

"You're one of the eight who do, Jayne," Zoë interrupted sharply, "Kaylee got you a present." An awkward silence stretched between them; it was fairly apparent who wasn't included in the gift exchange. It was the same every year, after all, and if _he_ hadn't planned on even leaving his quarters to participate, then they could hardly be blamed if none of them thought differently. In truth, the captain was glad no one wasted their hard earned money on him.

Jayne shifted uncomfortably. "But… ya got 'er some'in, din'tcha Mal?" he retorted defensively, trying to smother the rising guilt over his thoughtless actions. "'To crew, from Cap'n' or some such, like ya always do?"

"That I did," he confirmed, but his voice had an edge of censure to it, his eyes glinting too bright and all that intensity focused on Jayne. "And won't she feel special, one gift short and such a fine personal sentiment about the other." Reynolds frowned at his second in command. "What's so funny, Zoë?"

She managed to wipe the grin she'd been growing all through his lecture off her face, replying with her usual stoicism. Much as Jayne needed lessons about consideration, it was a rare opportunity that her brother-in-arms revealed so much of his own. "Just thinkin', sir; if you're so concerned about Inara's feelings, maybe you oughtta give her somethin' _personal_, too."

The former sergeant flashed the mock smile she'd seen too often since the end of the war. "Sure. I'll just be dippin' into our most impressive retirement fund, then."

Her reply was warm and very smug. "Wasn't talkin' on costin' any money."

Even the strongest of wills couldn't have forestalled the resulting horrific pink rush, and he couldn't blame the cold, not when it burned like it did. Jayne's guffaws warranted a glare that spoke of airlocks, then the captain returned his look of dire, violent promise to his first mate. "_Drive_," he growled.

"Already am, sir." Zoë's tone was still amused, but gentled to something less wrath-inducing. He settled back in and watched the world pass by, trying to ignore the snickers still coming from behind Jayne's mug.

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Their hunt ended at a little two story ranch house, white painted and barely discernable from the snow, near to charming but clearly seen better days. It brought to mind innocent sunlight and greener pastures. Displayed prominently the ground floor window was their miserable tree, worse looking for its trials than he remembered even with Kaylee's prized light strands now woven around it.

The captain rapped politely on the door, shrugged at the bemusement and irritation of his two crewmembers arrayed around the porch with him. "What? It's a nice door. Sturdy."

"Lemee knock, then." Jayne stepped up, preparing to give a mighty kick and dislodge the obstacle from its hinges, when the entrance opened of its own accord. Or, at least, the accord of the little mousey-haired boy who gaped up at them.

All four of them stared at each other for a moment, Jayne still standing with one of his feet halted in midair, then the boy frantically tried to shut them out. Mal wedged himself in and got slammed for his efforts, grunting out some unprintable Mandarin curses at the impact. He wrenched the door back open and stomped a few threatening steps into the household, towering over their pint-sized antagonist.

A fit of wet coughing from an adjacent room distracted him before he could commence further terrifying the boy out of ever stealing again. "Thomas?" The voice, feminine, had the thready, insubstancial languidness of the barely conscious, a raft struggling to stay afloat, drifting on a distant sea. "Who's there?"

Thomas darted away at his name, hurrying to the woman who spoke it as she held herself upright only by the aid of a wall. "Mama, lie down, ya gotta lie down," he implored, tugging at her skirts. Weary, pale, and bedraggled though the young mother was, she bore a strong resemblance to her son, and had a shotgun leveled at them.

She shook her head, partly to clear it. "Say yer bizness or git." Despite the feverish dullness in her eyes, she stared down the three brigands dripping snow all over her floor with surprising cognizance.

As their leader, he slowly raised his hands in supplication; behind him, his two fighters didn't move, didn't flinch. It was up to him to be disarming. "Whoa now, no call for unpleasantries. Ain't here to hurt anybody."

"We can take 'er." The brawny ruffian's not-whisper received two disbelieving stares. "Lookit 'er, all she gonna do by shootin' us is fall over."

Aggravation expelled in a breath. "Politic as ever, Jayne." The mother faltered worryingly, and Reynolds took a cautious step towards her, another when no pain was forthcoming. "I captain the ship takin' its ease over yonder. The window display your boy got there is ours." Closer, closer still...

He lunged for the shotgun, tugged it out of her hands easily. Without it, she visibly deflated. "Din't raise no thief," she objected, without much strength.

"Never do." There was a tinge of regret in his agreement. The soldier expertly broke open the barrel along the hinge, carefully shook free the two rounds.

She started coughing again, deep and uncontrolled, would have slid into a heap onto the floor if he hadn't caught her arm in time. The outlaw helped her back up. "Think your boy got one thing right, though. Let's get you some rest." He glanced at his two partners with unspoken command. "And maybe a doctor."

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"It's pneumonia," Simon confirmed, standing by the rough hewn table amid the cozy sunshine and floral décor of their galley. The nine of them, including their smaller guest, had gathered to listen to his diagnosis; none more than Kaylee, who was concerned both for the patient and her crush's tendency to become cold and distant during a medical emergency.

Mal considered that maybe they should get the lady to cough a few more times in case there was any doubt. "Well. Now I know what it is I'm payin' ya for." He blew on the cup of imitation coffee that he'd brewed then took a sip.

The doctor decided to ignore the comment. "The infection is at a pretty advanced stage. She's settling in well, though I don't think the cold trip she was subjected to did her any favours." Pointed barb. "I've put her on antibiotics."

"Won't do no good." They were the first words little Thomas had spoken to them, and quiet though he was, everyone looked his way. The boy hunched over the last bit of cocoa, growing cold. "Whole town's sick. Pills that'll help done got took."

Their attention volleyed back to Simon. "I'll want to administer immune-boosters, this must be a particularly resistant strain if they need specialty medicine," he theorized, his brows knitting together. "The conditions in the mines might have concealed the onset until there was an outbreak, then exacerbated the symptoms." A sigh. "As if Bowden's Malady isn't trouble enough for these people. Captain?"

He nodded. "Soon as you think your patient is stable, doc. Might take your sister, be good for her to get out, and I don't think they'll turn you two in. Preacher, you may want to go as well, sounds like there may be need of you." Book inclined his head, acknowledging his suggestion. "Inara, you might be some comfort…"

"Of course, Mal." Her doe eyes were beautiful, filled with compassion. "You needn't ask."

Feeling inexplicably nervous, he shifted his gaze from her and traded one kind of awkwardness for another. "Thomas," he started, as uncertain around the mousy-haired boy as he was around them. "Can you tell us anything about them who stole the medicine?"

"Just north of Whoville," River informed them helpfully, intent on an intricate little origami reindeer, made from paper she'd torn out of a sketchbook.

Even the oddness of the teenaged girl couldn't make Thomas look at anyone. "Seen 'em," the ten-year-old told the captain in a guilty fashion.

"They armed?" Mal guessed. Thomas slowly nodded, ashamed of his fear. "Show us." The boy finally looked up, frozen, his eyes wide and the light from the lamp in the center of the table, dim though it was, seemed like a spotlight on him. "Lotta folk like your momma countin' on that medicine," he coaxed, and at length, the boy nodded again.

That settled, it was time for action. He rose. "Zoë." Wash was holding her hand on top of the table, squeezed a bit when her commanding officer said his wife's name. Before he could elaborate on a plan, Jayne kicked out his chair to jump to his feet as well. Reynolds shook his head. "Need you, Wash, and Kaylee on _Serenity_, Jayne."

The big man shifted uncomfortably where he stood. "My kid brother got the damp lung, Mal. I'm goin'."

Jayne didn't commonly practice altruism, and he supposed that was a behaviour he ought to encourage in the sometimes treacherous mercenary. "All right," he consented, nodding slowly. "Jayne, you're with me. Zoë, you're staying with the ship." His first mate had objections, he could tell, but none that she voiced.

A tug on his coat stopped him as the table vacated and he headed for the stairs in the back hall, thinking he'd pass by the infirmary and check in briefly. Thomas stepped away again when he turned, looking apologetic. "I was afeard mama was gonna miss Christmas," the boy explained, pleadingly.

Mal wasn't much good for cheering words anymore, not with so many dead despite his attempts. But he crouched down to eye level and reached out to squeeze the boy's shoulder, and that seemed to be enough.

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Kaylee was disinclined to release him, not that Simon particularly minded. She made it easy to forget that he had doctoring to do and lives to save. Finally, he mustered the strength to gently pry her away, and held her at arms length. Her lips were a little bit swollen, and he had to quash the urge to kiss her again.

She smiled, let him go with a quick, affectionate peck on the check. "See ya later, Doctor Tam." She was outrageously, wonderfully flirty the way she said that, and his hand was still covering the last spot where her lips had pressed as she backed away, waving, trying to keep him in view as long as she could.

He found he couldn't stop grinning. That is, until someone standing behind him cleared their throat rather loudly. He jumped, whirled around. "Shepherd!" he yelped.

The older man looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh, but his smile wasn't at all mocking. "No need to look so guilty, son. Part of being a priest is thanking God for what joy and blessings there are to be found in life." Book paused as he went to board the shuttle. "Of course, I do hope you're planning to _marry_ that girl before there are any… blessings."

Simon blushed to the tips of his ears.

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"_Looks like we found 'em. About five, set up camp around a shack in the easternmost ravine in the hills."_ Mal snorted. _"Young too, looks like. Real young. This won't take long."_

Zoë's mouth merely set into a grimmer line as she and her husband listened to the update.

Wash had been feeling ignored as he sat in the pilot's seat. Her antsiness would make him antsy which would make craters if they needed to take off, so he decided to take a chance and try to put her at ease. "Honey, _sweetcakes_, I know you love Mal. _I_ love Mal. Between his gentle nature, his cheersomeness, and his infinite patience, he is a very loveable person."

He took her hand. "But I love even _more_ when my wife isn't directly in the line of fire. Mal tends to draw that line." That didn't seem to help her mood, but he smiled up at her winningly anyway. "Besides, you don't think he can handle a bunch of kids? Wait, don't answer that."

That worked. She smiled, quickly, it was gone almost before he saw it, but it stayed with her, with them. "Ah, there's my wifey," Wash observed with relief. He ran his other hand up along the arm he held captive. "You don't have to be tough today." He gave it a few moments, pretending to think it over. "Actually, be tough. I like tough too."

"Lucky me," she murmured, her voice low as she leaned in close.

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The eight coasted into town around sundown, both defeated bandits and heroes. The place seemed eerily abandoned, little snow covered cottages and quaint storefronts decorated with long shadows and fire as well as decorations for Christmas. No one was in the streets, no one purchasing any very last-minute preparations for the morning.

In the central commons, they finally found some signs of life, about a dozen people milling around _Serenity_'s Shuttle Two. "This everyone?" Everyone still alive, Mal wondered pessimistically.

"Everyone well enough to come," Simon answered, as though hearing that dark unspoken question, sounding tired after a long day of seeing patients. "It's better than it looks. The worst cases were treated when the shipment first came in, along with the children and elderly. Of course, everyone else has had a week for the infection to incubate…" The doctor frowned, surveying the crowd gathered around him, then turned back to them. "You did get the medicine?"

Mal gave him a look – _just who do you think you're talking to?_ – then began to unload a quadruplet of black crates with alliance markings.

"Ain't that a pretty sight," a short, weathered man with a shiny star pinned to his lapels praised, running his hands over the surface of the boxes. The deputy took in the other part of their cargo, being covered by Jayne's friendly machine gun. "Lookie here, if it ain't the Farkus Boys. You been causin' us a spot a trouble this month past. Sherriff a Paradiso's headed this way, think he'll be _sore_ glad to see you fellers."

Reynolds had to stop himself a couple of times before he could trust his voice. "Paradiso?" The crew of _Serenity_ exchanged unnoticed worried glances; they hadn't stolen the medicine this time, but they needed to leave before they became suspects themselves.

"These boys sure gave their parents all kinds a grief when they ran away like they did. Even took a shot at the lawman come and fetch 'em back." The deputy laughed and coughed a little then laughed again, nodding to himself in satisfaction. "Yep, he'll be here in a few days, seein' as how they're on the other side of the moon."

"That's quite a journey," he tried to comment off-hand, then allowed what he hoped was a fairly non-suspicious pause. "Well, we best be headin' off our own selves. Need a hand gettin' these gentlemen into the lock down 'fore we go?"

The deputy smiled at them, but was now eyeing Jayne's very not-legal fully-automatic. "Most kind a ya, friend, most kind." The two men hopped down from the hovermule, their prisoners followed more slowly as they were led away.

Mal leapt without ever leaving the ground at the soft touch on his arm. Inara, concerned for him, her hand burning even through his layers and the long, dainty white gloves she wore. Their breath mingled in the cold air. "Paradiso. Isn't that where…?"

Hers wasn't a welcome touch. Dangerous to both of them. Always painful, even if he wanted it. Especially if he wanted it. "It's where you hit me," he nodded distractedly, keeping his eyes anywhere but her. "Not lookin' on reliving the moment."

She pursed red lips at him, strode away towards the shuttle like a snow queen in her pristine furs, left him still warm where she removed her fingers. The sun had nearly finished its descent, even twilight fading in a flurry of new falling snow, and he thought of gatherings around caskets. He watched lonely little puffs of white drift after her while he waited.

He jerked as ice stung his ear and trickled down his collar. River was frowning, sticking her tongue out at him even as her brother tried to hurry her away.

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Late in the night cycle, space was only too happy to keep up appearances, remind him that he should be in bed like the good girls and boys.

Well, River had said it best; he was Mal, and he laboured under no illusions otherwise. Besides, this was his ship, and by now the other inhabitants had to be used to his inclination for insomnia prompted patrols. The only difference tonight was that he was skulking about laden with tokens wrapped clumsily but lovingly in colourful paper, and lingering over long by the sad little tree they'd reclaimed.

With any luck, they wouldn't wake. He hated to disturb them, even when it was only with his advanced paranoia or myriad other flaws, let alone something as condemning as affection. If they ever actually _saw_ him…

"Shouldn't you be in a red suit?" Warm, amused, teasing.

_Kě lián__ quǎn __sōu __jí qí__ liú lèi__._ He tensed, defensive, refused to look at her and see her disapproval of him, busied himself fussing with one of the packages. "Not a colour I'm partial to wearin, less'n I'm expecting to be shot."

Inara winced, though he didn't see. "That situation does seem to come up. Why don't you wear it all the time?"

The captain finally straightened, turned to her, smirked discourteously. "Eager to be rid of me?"

Often in their fights, the companion would return an insincere smile and snipe of her own, but this time, she didn't rise to the bait. The question pained her, and the irritation at their banter bled away to sadness. "Mal, join us. It's Christmas," she invited, pleading.

He rocked back slightly, glanced away; fighting hurt less. "And you're Buddhist." Drew a bit from Jayne's insensitivity to put her off.

"That doesn't mean I don't want to celebrate, to be with family." Her glittering eyes tore through him. "Kaylee told me you do this every year. Sneak out presents while everyone is sleeping, then go and pout in your quarters."

"I don't pout!" he protested.

She persisted, so caring, so tempting. "Join us. It would mean a lot to everyone. We want you to be here with us, to share in our happiness." She reached for his hand to entreat him better, he recoiled.

"I help decorate one gorramn tree, and suddenly everyone thinks I'm Ebenezer!" he snapped, looming anger as he stepped in close, still acutely aware of the proximity despite wanting to drive thoughts of intimacy far from his mind. He lowered his voice, but it was no less forceful, trembling with the effort of restraint. "My ghosts ain't the _holiday cheer_ kind, Inara."

Shining, tear-filled, equally tremulous she locked gazes, clasped her hands at her throat. "Then face them with us. Please, Mal…" The moment stretched, fragile; he tried to hold on to the rage, not break.

"Yeah, c'mon, Mal!" Wash chimed in. The rest of the crew was watching from the catwalk. He forgot his fury in the surprise, stared at them, then began trying to work out how they'd known to find him. The com was on, he realized. Inara.

Captains do _not_ pout. "You cheated," he told her, petulantly.

She smiled, but it was a wavering one, full of relief. He gave in with a sigh and rubbed at his brow, trying to continue to act frustrated. Kaylee cheered, the rest smiled at him.

"Welcome, Christmas!" River nearly sang, appearing from the passenger dorms. The fey teenager's bare feet seemed to fly as she spun and flitted about the cargo bay, greeting the day, her long dark hair floating.

The crew began to attack the presents under the tree, and he mustered one last feeble offense. "I'm not gettin' up this early next year," he warned them, having a seat on the ground as Inara left his side. "Hey! Take it easy with that paper, its expensive!" A wad of the aforementioned wrappings bounced off his head. He glared.

She was back a few minutes later, joined him on the floor with a bright smile that seemed genuine about the tin of rolled White Rooster Oolong he'd gotten her. It had been an embarrassment, one of the few times he'd taken up her offer for tea; she'd asked him to choose a flavour, and then she'd had to explain, to both their mortification, that she only served the green tea he picked to her clients. He was amazed that he had stayed after that, but had learned that she preferred this particular brand for herself. She had acquired a liking for the aftertaste, a sweetness that followed the initial bitterness.

Mal saw the canister, remembered she only had the one present, and from _him_ of all people. He felt miserable for her, having to pretend that she was happy with only that gift, having to sit next to him and feign gratitude.

"They say," whispered their reader from over their shoulders, "that his heart grew three sizes that day."

Inara quirked an eyebrow at him. "You have a heart?"

River continued, cutting off his comeback. "Heart to heart," the psychic answered, "hand in hand." She acted on the advice of her own words. "Christmas doesn't come from a store." The girl danced away as the two of them jerked their hands apart. Mal massaged his palm as though he'd been singed, and Inara frowned in confusion at the sprig of greenery now placed in hers.

"What did River just give me?" she asked, holding up the plant for their combined examination.

"Oh!" Kaylee exclaimed, clapping when she spotted them. "Mistletoe!"

_-Fin-_


End file.
